


Take my hand

by sharkinterviewee



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Loss, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Holding Hands, Hurt Peter Quill, Rescue missions gone wrong, Whump, ouch my heart, starmora-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 02:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkinterviewee/pseuds/sharkinterviewee
Summary: “Never told you that, did I?” Peter asked, still smiling between coughing up blood. She wanted to tell him to stop trying to speak, save his energy, but she was too greedy for the sound of his voice. “She said that too, said it like you. And I didn’t,” he chuckled weakly like it was the only way to get through the pain. He knew he wouldn’t make it in time to the hospital. He’d already lost so much blood he could barely think straight, and every breath stung his lungs. Might as well tell her now. “Not holding her hand was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”





	Take my hand

**Author's Note:**

> I low-key started writing this back in February, so feel free to place this wherever you want in the timeline.

He was was bleeding out.

Everything hurt so bad, he had so many injuries Peter honestly didn't know where one stopped and the other began.

It felt like weeks. Later, he'd find out, it was only days. It had taken them seven days to find him. Well, six and a half. When the only reprieve you have from round the clock torture is when the guards switch shifts, the days kinda blur together. The days and nights.

He was completely cut off from the world, in the middle of some compound that may or may not have been underground, and he had no way of knowing if it was day or night on the planet.

It was just long, unending eternity. Nothing marked the passage of time. It was just the pain for eternity. For six and a half days.

Once they were onboard the Milano the guardians patched him up as best they could with the inadequate med kit they kept on board until they could get him to the nearest hospital. But Peter was under no delusions. He wasn't going to make the trip.

He thought he had already died before he was lifted up off the ground of the chamber, his broken body lying on the floor. When Drax brought him outside into the open air it was so cold Peter regained consciousness with a sudden start, awakening with a jerk and a shuddered gasp.

Looking up at the sky, it was so bright it hurt his eyes. He thought that he was still dying, that this light that was so bright it was painful was what people had always described. He had been in the almost total darkness of the compound for six and a half days. Now he was outside, and it was so bright it was almost blinding. He still thought he was dying.

Turns out that no, he was just looking up at the starry night sky as Drax swiftly carried him back to the Milano.

* * *

Not only had he regained consciousness after Gamora had patched him up as best as anyone could with the shoddy medical supplies (and no pain killers) but he was coherent now too, which was undoubtedly worse. It was horrible.

* * *

Peter was under no illusions that he was gonna die before they made it to someplace safe, some actual hospital. Probably gonna die. Save for a Christmas miracle.

He had a little gadget in his room that showed Terra's current situation and calendar- just a little thing that showed the date and time earth was on at that moment, along with the season and time of year.

It was the middle of April on earth last time he remembered checking it. Little late for a Christmas miracle.

* * *

Gamora wanted to reach out and take his hand so bad, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was right there next to him, she could see how much pain he was in, watching him struggle to breath. Her mind was running too fast and empty all at once. She wanted to hold him, touch him. But she couldn't reach out without losing something of herself, some part of her.

Her eyes were already stinging, and she knew if she reached out to touch him she'd lose all control and her tears would fall. Her chest was so tight, ever constricting right now, like her lungs were being crushed. It hurt to look at him struggling to bear the pain that came with merely trying to breathe.

If she touched him she'd let loose a sob, and she'd never stop. She couldn't move.

Here she was, sitting beside Peter and watching him slip away, and she couldn't even move. She can't. She just can't.

“Take my hand.”

She was staring down at her hands in her lap, but her head shot up at the sound of his voice.

There was pain written all over every inch of him, but the smile that twitched at his lips as he turned his head to her was still there. He had a weak smirk on his face, still trying to be Peter. Peter who could make anyone smile, who could make _her_ smile anytime he wanted to, every time he tried. Every time he tried to make her smile, it always worked. He wanted her to smile.

His expression was pained, easy to see through his weak and cocky smirk of always trying to lighten things for others.

“Isn't that what you said last time things were this hopeless?” Peter rasped, his small grin turning into a grimace of pain as the Milano shifted, his face scrunching up, a noise dying in the back of his throat. He breathed out hard, forced, and shaky. “What you told me last time I was dying and things were _this_ hopeless. You know, you and me, we really gotta stop meeting up like this,” he started chuckling, which almost immediately turned to coughing. He sat up slightly as the hoarse and hollow sounds wracked through his body, loud and wet as he began coughing up blood. Even though he'd already lost so much.

Gamora lurched to catch him when he started coughing, and he flinched at her touch, purely because her arm around him meant that she had her arm around so many painful, open wounds. All the flesh had nearly been flayed off his back. Gauze didn't mean much with Gamora's arm barely touching his back with the layer of gauze the only thing between the air and flayed flesh.

She helped him settle back into the least painful position when his coughing fit was over, reluctantly pulling her hand away when she could see just her touch hurt him. She wouldn't risk grabbing his hand. It looked like he had at least two broken fingers on his _less_ injured hand, but the scrapes, gashes, and lashes on both of them made it hard to tell the extent of the damage, so she wouldn't risk touching him and causing him any more pain. She wouldn't risk hurting him. She wouldn't risk hurting him again.

“She said that too. Did I ever tell you that?” Peter asked, and she hated that he was still trying to speak. She knew she should tell him to not try to talk right now, to save his energy. But she was too greedy to hear his voice.

It'd been gone for seven days. She was too greedy to risk losing the sound.

“Peter-” she started, her voice as soft and soothing as possible, thinking that his nonsensical words were like something out of a fever dream. He didn't get that he wasn't making sense.

She made a move to try and calm him, thinking he was delirious, but she resettled in her seat when she realized her first instinct to calm him was to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He could see that she thought that too, could hear it in her voice, so he continued, clarifying, “I didn't, did I? I never did tell you that,” he breathed, almost sheepishly. “She said that too. Before she died. My mom said that too. Said it like you,” he told her, blinking with heavy eyelids. “She said it like you. Or you said it like her. She died before you said it. She died right after she said it.”

At the back of his mind Peter knew he was getting a little rambly, but the fact barely registered. It almost made him want to smile. Gamora always said he talked too much. And his thoughts were getting kinda hard to put together in his head, something that should probably worry him more than it did.

“But you both- said it the same way. Not just the same words. Lotsa people c'n say 'Peter take my hand' all different. Not you two. You said it the same way she did. You both said it the same. Biggest- biggest regret of my life.” Peter groaned, his right hand shaky and feebly grasping at his side at the shooting pain from accidentally brushing against the wall. “She said that too. Like you. Right before she died. And I didn't do it. That was the last thing she said, and I didn't listen, and then seconds later she was just flatlining, and I was yelling at her and holding her hand, but she was dead. I didn't hold her hand before she died. When she said it just like you. She said that too, G'mora. Never told you that, don't think. Not holding her hand was the worst thing I've ever done in my life. 'least did to you. Learned howta listen, huh?” He slurred slightly. “I didn't hold her hand n it killed her, she died anyway. She told me to take her hand and I didn't. She died. You told me to take your hand and I did. We lived. Didn't die. No one died. Sometimes I wonder...” Peter trailed off, closing his eyes. He was so tired right now, and his eyes burned a little less than when they were open.

“Peter, take my hand,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

When his eyes fluttered back open, she grabbed his hand, and it hurt so much. He never imagined that Gamora holding his hand could ever be so painful. When he lifted his eyes from their hands to her face, he saw she was crying.

“There,” her voice cracked. “Now everyone's gonna live.”

She said it definitively, like it was an order or something. Peter slipped into a soft, bittersweet smile before his eyes fluttered shut for the last time.

* * *

Gamora didn't know if she could do this. If she could go in that room by herself. The stupid thing was, she wished she had Peter with her. He would be able to convince her to go in. She wished she had Peter with her to help her be brave enough to go into the room that Peter was in. Instead she was just waiting outside the door.

She wished she had him beside her to encourage her, because she wasn't brave enough by herself to take one step closer to his body that was laid not even 15 feet away from her at the moment.

She couldn't do this by herself. Maybe she would just freeze there for the next century. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

* * *

In the course of an hour she managed to inch around the corner of the door, and she felt like she couldn't breathe as she stared at him, in the middle of the room, lying motionless, looking so peaceful.

* * *

Two hours later she found herself sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, right next to him.

Well, right next to the hospital bed he was in. He was elevated a couple of feet above her in the bed, so she was really just sitting on the floor beside it, against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest.

It shouldn't have been any different today. She should have been so excited she couldn't have been kept away. But that wasn't the case.

In reality, she was barely able to force herself to take the first step into his room.

He was supposed to wake up today.

She hadn't seen his eyes in months. His injuries were so severe he had been placed in a medically induced coma for two months. Today he was supposed to open his eyes again.

She was in the hospital with him every day since he got there. She came every single day, easily; read to him, talked to him, brushed his hair, played his music, she spent hours with him everyday since he was in the hospital. Would barely leave his side. (she wouldn't even leave the hospital for the first two weeks straight- spending every waking moment with him, and sleeping in the stiff chair beside his bed at night, eventually she made the transition to at least going back to the ship some nights to sleep in her own bed).

Two whole months she came to the same room everyday no problem.

But this morning she was barely brave enough to step foot into his room.

* * *

She didn't have words for how happy she was the moment she saw his eyes for the first time in months. He was pretty confused at first, smiling an awful lot, and felt the need to ask her if she was okay about, oh, 500 times within the first hour he was awake.

But she was fine with that. She'd spent so long thinking about what she would give to hear the sound of his voice again. He could ask her anything, just as long as he was okay, and awake, and alive.

It took awhile to get his head wrapped around the idea that he was in a medically induced coma for two months (luckily a medical professional was there to explain it to him, and that the confusion would wear off the longer he was awake).

For the next couple hours, Gamora just filled him in on everything that had happened, important things and unimportant things. She had to assure him the rest of the team was alright about 500 times too. The only reason they weren't there right now was because hospitals weren't cheap, and the rest of the team was out on a job (that was supposed to be over yesterday, but ran a little long) earning credits to pay for their leader's treatment.

They did have a video call though, with the Milano. The team informed them they were on their way back and would be arriving tomorrow morning. It was clear everyone was so relieved and happy to see him awake and smiling again. Even Rocket was too happy to make fun of him when Peter exclaimed 'Aw, I love you guys!' with wet eyes.

So yes, it was an emotional reunion when he woke up.

They had all missed him so dearly these past two months.

Gamora especially. She missed Peter more than anything.

She was so glad he was back.

* * *

“Serves me right for doubting you,” Peter shook his head with a self deprecating chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

At her question, his eyes widen, like he didn't realize what he just said. He paused, thought for a moment, rewinding in his head what just came out of his mouth. When he landed on it he immediately cast his eyes away, dropping his head and averting his gaze to the floor.

Peter's silence dragged on for several moments, unable to meet her eyes, a flush of shame blooming across his face.

“I had... kinda given up hope. That you guys'd find me.”

And looking at him now, her chest was tight, so tight it was painful. It hurt seeing him like this. How he wouldn't meet her eyes, how ashamed he was for doubting them when they had given him every reason to doubt. He had every reason to doubt them, every reason littered on his skin.

Every reason carved into...

It pained her to see him look ashamed for doubting their team when they were the ones who failed _him._

She probably should have said so, or at least something along those lines. But she didn't.

Without even thinking about it her hands were suddenly on his face, pulling him up to look at her, his wide eyes the most breathtaking thing she'd ever seen. His light and lovely eyes- so full of life- so beautiful and good.

“Peter, I will _always_ come for you. I will always come for you, and I will always find you,” she told him, more serious than she'd ever been in her life. “ _I will always find you._ ”

He searched her eyes for a moment, but finding nothing there but resoluteness, he had no choice but to believe her. He swallowed loudly, blinking a bit, his eyes fluttering under unsteady breaths. Without a sound he nodded, slowly, his expression somehow so innocent and naive as he nodded almost submissively.

Gamora stroked his cheek with her thumb, still soul gazing into his eyes. “I will always come for you, I promise, Peter. Always.”

* * *

It was really no surprise that she ended up curled into his side that evening. Even with all the apprehension she faced that morning, she preferred to be right there with him, and she always found comfort in his contact. It was a mutual feeling.

Even though this thing that they were still wasn't clearly defined, they'd been able to seek comfort and safety in each other's touch. While Gamora would never use the word cuddling, the feeling of having Peter Quill in her arms (or being wrapped in his) was not an unfamiliar one. It was one she missed so, so much.

It was so nice in this moment right now, curled into his side, his arm around her, just mindlessly talking in this warm and surprisingly tranquil scene.

“Your hand powers worked,” she smiled, playing with the fingers of his arm that he had draped over her shoulder. He was so warm, and even though it was easy to get overwhelmed by the sanitized hospital smell, there was still something so uniquely Peter that calmed her senses when she breathed him in. She was practically nuzzling into his neck the whole time as their conversation drifted aimlessly, and she didn't care if this was much more affection than they'd normally ever show in a public environment. She didn't care about anything other than the draw to be close to him. It was like all her senses were trying to soak up as much of him as possible, her nerves humming and tingling at his touch and every sigh of his breath.

He gave her a confused look, no clue what the hell she was talking about.

“You know, your holding hand thing?” She prompted. At his blank face she just decided to tell him the whole conversation again instead of trying to keep reminding him.

Even after she explained what happened, and everything he told her and said, he still didn't technically remember it at all, really. Blood loss and a two month coma will do that to you, he guessed.

“I think you have magic hands. Your hand holding powers worked again. I told you to hold my hand and you did, and nobody died again. You held my hand and everybody lived again,” Gamora was smiling all soft and silly as she said it, but suddenly she realized that made it sound like if he did have a hand holding power that he could have saved his mom, and that she died all because Peter didn't hold her hand when she asked him to.

She knew a hand holding power was a ridiculous premise and that he knew she wasn't being serious at all, that it was just supposed to be a light and silly thing as she twiddled his fingers, but she couldn't have him feeling even the slightest bit guilty because she said something stupid trying to make him smile about a hand holding superpower that implied he could have saved his mom if he only listened to her last request and took her hand.

She couldn't let that thought get to him for even a moment. She internally scolded herself when she realized what an idiot she was for saying something like that. The last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of the traumatic death of his mother that wasn't his fault at all.

“Or maybe I'm the one with magic hands,” she suggested, the quickest thing that popped into her head for a solution. “You just have boring, dumb, Peter Quill hands,” she told him, making him chuckle. Her eyes lit up at the sound. He had her favorite pair of hands. Her favorite laugh too. “I'm the one with the hand holding superpower,” Gamora continued. “I'm the one with magic hands that can save people. Nothing to do with you. You have normal, boring hands. It's mine that have a super power. You're just lucky to know me and have been able to hold my hand in hopeless situations where you're about to die. Nobody dies when you hold my hand because it's _my_ hand. When I hold your hand, nobody dies. I have the hand holding power. My hands save people.”

Gamora was just trying to correct her joke, incredibly flustered, because she didn't want to imply even in joking format that any part of his mother's death had anything to do with him, but for some reason... It made her really happy. Just the thought. Her chest fluttered with something like wonder at hearing herself say the words 'my hands save people'.

It's a strange notion, that Gamora's hands could do any saving. She finds she's in love with the thought it was possible for her hands to save.

Not kill, murder, destroy. Save.

“I think you're right,” Peter said, soft and low, a seriousness in his eyes like he could read her face and knew exactly what she was thinking. “I think it's your hands. It's you with the hand holding superpower. It's yours that are magic. I think you're right. You have the hand holding super power that saves people. Like you saved me. Your hands save people. Your hands save, G'mora.”

She swore he was repeating the words over and over with clear intention, to make sure they stuck or something. The deep look in his eyes as he murmured all this to her like he was casting a spell. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

“Your hands are the ones that save,” he finished, entwining his fingers with hers. Peter's eyes fluttered shut as he brought them to his lips and kissed her hand, and Gamora could barely breathe.

* * *

Peter Quill has her favorite lips too. Maybe she should tell him that sometime.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll take things that make me want to cry for 500, Alex.
> 
> The fact that Peter genuinely considers not taking his mom's hand to be the worst thing he's ever done in his life is the honest truth and I will fight you on it.  
> Or make myself cry because of it. Let's cry together?


End file.
